In spain, under an olive tree.

Them continental types do like their food, and after about twenty courses I had me an auld wander out to stretch the legs and maybe delay the early onset of unconsciousness.

Outside, under an old and twisted olive tree, I found a an old and twisted druid.
Not twisted in any overt way, but one look at his pointy eyeball and I knew he had himself convoluted into a loop of epic proportions.

The woad painted onto his face was beginning to pulsate and shift, a sure sign that he had enough random and conflicting hallucinogens, amphetamines, opioids, bad juju and crazy shit onboard to start altering other peoples perception of reality.
I was in that secure drunk gregarious place, waving a stogie about like I knew what I was doing with it and slopping gin on the paving slabs. I was dressed, snappily, as a Chinese peasant.

The Hairy fella had been on the receiving end of a succession of complementary offerings from the Spaniards, partly due to the mighty impression he made with his wedding ceremony and partly because he just has the head on him that people want to throw drugs into. Maybe they intuitively think he's in need of strong medicine. For his brain.
He has a measure of wisdom that reveals itself in wee slivers of time, between the moments spent assuming random wedding guests are prostitutes and moments spent getting lost in forests while on weekend visits to large cities that don't contain forests.

-KFS me auld scober, I have just the thing for you my friend, have you had one of these yellow pills?
-Not at all now Hairy, I'm in my undeflateable castle of groove due to the many, many gintonicos I've been swimming in, and also sure I've left all that auld craic behind me manys the year ago.
-Ah but KFS you forget I know you all too well, and this is very trippy stuff.

My little ears picked up and I could feel righty actually swivel foward a couple of millimeters.

-Trippy is it you say? stuff is it you say?
-Synthetic mescaline by all accounts my friend, you'll not do yourself a dis-service?
-Jaysus no, that would be criminal.
-Good man.

I was the proud owner of a golden capsule, snug in the centre of my palm, as the light glowing from the building behind me gave my gin a swimming-pool shimmer. The whole scene was permeated with an ethereal sense of adventure, there were rivulets of electricity running on the edges of everything. I was mostly just excited in general and all wound up with the occasion and the sense of marvellous dislocation, and rivers of booze and the miraculous intersecting timelines of all the good people.

And this is before I actually swallowed the magic bean. The night got a whole geansai-load more exciting shortly after.